Monday, October 29, 2012

Well this week has been hopeless in terms of writing. I have
barely completed a paragraph all week.

My usual writing time is in the train during my commute, but
work has been insane and I am still a little ill (I had a head cold) so
unfortunately I have been dozing on the train more than writing!

This week’s scene from Hilda follows on from last, although
as you will see a little more time has passed.

1911

‘They say
Lord Shirley’s family is recorded in the Domesday Book as the owners of
Ettington.’

As Hilda
followed her father up the driveway through the park, she wanted to say ‘I know
all that, I’ve heard it a thousand times. Let Lord Shirley keep his precious
park!’ But she held her tongue, she knew she would cry if she said anything,
leave alone upset her Dad.

Today she
would not cry, she was determined of that. Her tears could wait until the
evening when she was alone in her own bed. But it wouldn’t be her own bed, it
would be a strange bed, a servant’s bed somewhere in an attic or basement room of
Ettington Park.

‘We
follow the drive around to the servants’ entrance at the back.’ Catching her
expression he paused, ‘Cheer up Duck! It won’t be so bad. They’re a nice bunch
up at the Park!’

There was
no cheering up, not today. Today was the end of her dreams. She was thirteen
and putting aside a whole world and donning the garb of a servant.

The
Friday before was the end of school. She’d had her thirteenth birthday and her
last term had rushed to an end. She remembered how she had lingered on that
last afternoon, taking her time, washing the slates with Maggie. In the end,
Fred poked his head in through the door, no longer a student of the school next
door and daring to stray beyond the girls’ gate. ‘Maggie, are you ready? I’ve
got Bob out here, saddled and rearin’ to go!’

Maggie
smiled her warm smile, ‘That’s me then.’

Unlike
Hilda, she was happy with the end of the year, she was moving back to her
parents’ home at Weston. She took Hilda’s hands in hers, ‘You’ll be alright. You’ll
make the best of it. Save your money and one day you’ll be twenty-one and make
your own choices!’

That left
Hilda alone with Miss Wilson, she finished the slates and put them away, taking
the broom she swept the floor. Finally there was no longer a reason to linger
any longer. Miss Wilson left her desk, ‘Well Miss, that’s it then.’

‘Thank
you Hilda, I have something for you to remember me by,’

She held
out a package wrapped in a pretty printed blue paper. The size and shape of a
large book, but it didn’t have that feel. ‘I won’t open this now.’

Sunday, October 28, 2012

For those of you who dropped in looking for Wild Flower Watch I must apologise.Yesterday was rainy and wet and today family business took us up the Yarra Valley.

After our business was concluded we went for a picnic by the Upper Yarra River. The area we were in was not in the National Park so Lilli came with us.As you know Lilli is a ball retrieving maniac. Well one of the things she likes more than retrieving a ball is retrieving a ball and getting wet doing it!

So this little photo essay is about Lilli and her imitation of a fearsome aquatic beast.

Lilli standing at the edge of the river beseeching Lu (my youngest) to throw the ball.

Lilly leaping energetically into the current after said ball.

Closing in for a kill! Jaws has nothing on Lilli!

Doing what most Labradors do best: retrieving!

Landing with her prey.

And finally, sharing the fun!

Now for those of you who didn’t get a wild flower fix

This lovely callistemon was growing on the Yarra river bank.

There are dozens of species of callistemons in all sorts of colours, from this lemon, to purples, pinks and reds. A number of species have the common name of “bottle-brush” and you can see why!

Friday, October 26, 2012

Not one of them was close!John said: “a stained glass window” And added, “btw Chris loved Melbourne on his recent visit!”

Nope, not a piece of glass involved in this piccie, the image does seem to glow so I can see how you came at your guess. I suspect you will like the answer.

Btw, I am pleased Chris enjoyed Melbourne, as it goes it is a lovely city.

Christine had help with her guess: “Committee decision here, Al. Our little writers' group thinks that this is a rainy day in Melbourne: grass, a path and some water, maybe with fishes.”

Strictly no water here, although as you will see in a moment there may have been a different source of moisture.

Old Kitty guessed “It looks like colours of a woolly hat!!”I agree it looks almost exactly like some felted creations of Deb’s

But it isn’t, although as you will see there is some fuzz involved.

Linda G went down a similar path to Christine with: “Looks like a view of a beach from above to me.”

Nope it is very much smaller!

Jai had her analytic hat on … “I'm gonna go totally out on a limb and say it's a guy sideways. The blue is his shirt, the white a belt, the green his trousers. I'm probably totally wrong but the curve of the picture makes me think that it can't be a landscape. At least I don't think so.”

The curve is the clue, and I can see what you are stabbing at, but no.

Finally Marcy said: “Grass, patio or edge of pool, water/pool.”

Much smaller, in fact something very blown up.

It is…

Lilli doing one of her favourite things!

(I suspect her absolute favourite thing is to curl up next to someone on a lounge chair).

Monday, October 22, 2012

As you know I write on the train on my way to and from work.
Well this week I have been thinking more about my other WIP Veil of Iron than
writing on either. I say thinking
because I have a plot problem I want to sort out and it has me stumped.

The net result is not much writing at all. Although I have
done little with Hilda, as I said last week I am somewhat ahead of tonight’s
extract.

Anyway, the extract this week follows on immediately from
last week. Hilda is still anxiously awaiting her parents’ verdict on whether
she can take the scholarship Miss Wilson has arranged for her to go to High
School.

1911

‘There’s
Miss Wilson,’ Hilda turned to her mother, ‘can I sit with her?’

Linda G was
a bit literal to qualify as quirky (unusually) with:“Well, the rhino obviously represents danger.
So I'm guessing it means "Beware of Skateboarders." Which is
something we all should do. I got mowed down by a skateboarder once, and it was
painful.”

I have
been mown down by a skateboarder too! Not fun! Sympathy points of 50%!

Jennifer,
(AKA Old Kitty) said “Area Reserved for Skateboarding Rhinos.”

Which is
clearly nonsense! And therefore exactly the sort of answer I was looking for. That
rates 85% as well!

Jai is in
the literal camp as well with “I'm wondering if it's maybe a description of
skateboarding techniques. The first has the skateboard level and the second has
the front wheels slightly lifted. Maybe?”

Alas not 50%.

Christine
had a bet either way with: "Beware
of something heavy and slow-moving on wheels; it might pick up speed and cause
you injury."

Which is
pretty close to what the campaign is actually saying so I guess that is worth a
good 60%.

Then the
icing was Christine’s quirky “On the other hand, it might mean 'love your rhinocerous
and take him to the skate park as you will be richly rewarded.' Has WIIW become
OTWW (off the wall Wednesday)?”

Yes it
has Christine for this week at least, that deserves a bonus 85% which
meansChristine’s total score is 145%!!!

Is that
even possible? I guess in an OTWW post it is!

Marcy
wondered: “Beware skating rhinos? Surely not...”

As your
answer is strictly true I guess you get 50%. Alas it is unfortunately not skating
rhinos, it is something even more dangerous.

Monday, October 15, 2012

I’m now a
few years ahead of where my posts have reached. Once again I have paused for
some research. One of my characters is embroiled in the opening stages of WWI
and I need to make sure I have some background details right.

If it was
WWII I would probably already know most of the details as I have done so much
research on that war for my other works.

The trick
with the research is to have enough detail to weave into the narrative without
it feeling placed for effect. Thank goodness for the internet, most of the
detail I need at the moment is coming from that source. With my work set in
WWII I got a lot of colour from talking to people from the generations in
question. That is clearly no longer an option with the WWI generation.

For the
writers among you, a question? How do you get the details right?

For the
readers how important is it that the “history” is right?

Now, this is
a longer extract than most, Hilda is coming to a milestone in her life

1910

‘Good afternoon Miss Wilson.’ Said Maggie
from the back of Bob.

‘Good afternoon Maggie, good afternoon Fred.’

Fred tipped his cap, ‘Afternoon Miss.’

Unusually, as they were packing up on this
afternoon Miss Wilson had taken Hilda aside, ‘Don’t hurry away this afternoon
Hilda. I wish to come with you, I need to talk to your mother.’

Hilda stood nervously outside the schoolyard
while Miss Wilson put on her hat and locked the school door. What could it be?
The only times Hilda knew of that a teacher spoke to a parent was when the
child had committed some terrible sin.

Three quarters of the school year had flashed
by and Miss Wilson had nothing but praise for Hilda’s work with the younger children.
She had also gone on showing her more mathematics well beyond that she taught
to the other girls. And she had gone on lending her books on all sorts of maths
she had never dreamed existed, why just today she was taking home a book on
geometry.

Hilda walked slower and slower as the went
along the road toward Wharf Cottage feeling more and more miserable. She must
have done something without realizing it, must have crossed some boundary,
broken some rule, why else would Miss Wilson want to see her parents? Dolly and
Wilf skipping along hand in hand left them in their wake.

‘What is wrong Hilda?’ Miss Wilson addressed
her for the first time since they had left the school gate.

She paused considering, ‘I hope I have good
news. I haven’t wanted to share it with you so you aren’t disappointed if your
parents don’t agree with my idea.’

Hilda almost breathed a sight of relief, but
now the anticipation was nearly as bad as the anxiety.

‘Now tell me Hilda, I have always wondered,
why is your house called “Wharf Cottage”? The river is not very nearby and we
must be fifty miles from the sea.’

‘That’s easy Miss, around a hundred years ago
there was a horse drawn tram that went past here. Our cottage was built as the
wharf at the end of the tramway. Then when the railway came through it were
turned into a cottage.’

‘I see, that makes sense.’ Then always the
teacher, ‘It should be “it was converted into a cottage”.’

‘I’m sorry Miss Wilson,’ the misery of being
rebuked, Hilda hated being wrong.

Elizabeth
Attewell set down her cup, ‘Would you like more tea Miss Wilson?’

Miss
Wilson cast her eyes around the room, ‘Please.’

Hilda
took up the pot from its stand and reached across the walnut surface of the
table to pour a steady stream of tea into the cup.

Setting
down the pot she glanced around the room trying to see it with her teacher’s
eyes. A good sized room, but full to bursting with fine furniture. Most of the
work her father did on the estate was simpler country furniture for the people
living on the estate. But as the master craftsman he was, he could turn out
pieces “fit for a king” as he fondly said. It was with such pieces he filled
his home, to the point that it was hard to navigate through many of the rooms
of the cottage.

Dolly
asked from the other side of the table, ‘Can I have some more please mum?’

Elizabeth
looked at her younger daughter, ‘No child, run and play with Wilf.’

Dolly
nodded and left the table, Hilda could tell she wanted to stay, wanted to find
out what Miss Wilson had come for.

For that
matter Hilda ached to know, why had she stuck to pleasantries like the weather?
Mum wondered too, she was sure of it, wondered why she had been paid such an
honor. Hilda’s Dad walked past the window, he’d come home a bit early. Hilda
listened to the front door open and close. ‘Tell your dad we’ve company.’
Elizabeth said.

‘Yes
Mum.’

Hilda
left her chair and stepped into the hall, Charles was hanging his hat on the
hook in the hall, ‘Dad, Miss Wilson’s here.’

‘Miss
Wilson?’

‘Our
teacher.’

He
smoothed down his coat and stepped into the room. Hilda followed him in, ‘Miss
Wilson,’ he smiled warmly, ‘what a pleasure to see you.’

The next
minutes dragged for Hilda, but finally Miss Wilson set down her cup and began
her business, ‘No doubt Mister and Mrs Attewell you wondered why I have called
on you today.’

Charles
smiled, ‘Well I guessed it might have something to do with one of the girls,
you being their teacher and all.’

‘I…’ Miss
Wilson paused her eyes meeting Hilda’s.

Charles
interjected, ‘Hilda hasn’t been causing mischief has she?’

Miss
Wilson smiled with relief, ‘No,quite the opposite in fact. But it is Hilda I
have come to talk about.’

‘Yes?’
Her mother’s voice was not exactly icy, but neither was it inviting.

‘You
might have realized Hilda has a gift when it comes to mathematics.’

‘She’s
always been quick with numbers.’ Charles’ eyes where questioning, ‘What of it?’

Miss Wilson
took her time, it was as if she was feeling her way down a path in the dark,
‘In everything you care to name Hilda is the quickest student I have ever had
the pleasure to teach. It is in mathematics that she particularly shines
though.’

‘You’ve
been lending her books.’ Elizabeth’s voice was strained.

‘I have.
At the beginning of the summer holiday I lent Hilda a book on algebra. I didn’t
really expect her to finish it. But she did, and with no mistakes. It was if I
opened a floodgate with that loan. Over the subsequent nine months Hilda has
borrowed another book off me almost every week. At first they were my own
books, but my paltry collection did not last Hilda long. I have been borrowing
maths books from a professor whose acquaintance I have.’

Miss
Wilson took a breath, eyes shining at Hilda she went on, ‘In short Hilda’s
knowledge of mathematics has surpassed my own.’

Charles’
met his daughter’s eye, doubt on his face, before turning to Miss Wilson. ‘That
is all very fine, but of what import is it?’

‘I have
been talking to the head mistress of the Cheltenham Ladies’ College, the school
I attended. Based on my word she has promised a full scholarship for Hilda.’

‘Cheltenham?’
exclaimed Elizabeth, ‘That must be thirty miles from here!’

Miss
Wilson floundered, ‘I’m not sure.’ A breath, more confidant again, ‘It would be
a full scholarship, board and uniforms included, and Hilda could come home for
holidays.’

Hilda’s
head spun, the idea of moving away from home, especially as far as Cheltenham
was daunting. On the other hand the prospect of not going into service, of
continuing to learn, continuing at school, what a magical prospect. ‘Mum, Dad,
please can I?’

Such a
mournful expression settled on her father’s face she did not know what to
think, ‘But afterward? What would the girl do after another six years of
school?’

‘Afterward?’
Miss Wilson was at a loss, ‘Why afterward she might go on to one of the ladies
colleges at Oxford, at the worst she might teach.’

‘Oxford?’
Charles was scornful, ‘I knows for a fact that women are not allowed to
matriculate at the universities, not allowed to take a degree.’

‘That is
true, but they are allowed to attend lectures, tutorials and sit examinations.
They have the qualification in all but name.’

Elizabeth
interjected, ‘But of what use would it be to a working girl? A few years and
she would just get married in any case. She would waste all that time and for
what? In those six or eight years she might earn three or four hundred pounds
and with full board save two hundred maybe three hundred pounds to contribute
to her household when she marries.’

Miss
Wilson, shifted, she seemed about to flee. Please, please, please
thought Hilda, don’t give up. She caught her teacher’s eye, Miss Wilson,
smiled at her before speaking again ‘Mister and Mrs Attewell, I know this has
come out of nowhere. Don’t make a decision today, take your time, think about
it. Things are just beginning to change for women and with her mind your Hilda
can be at the forefront of those changes. Who knows you might have another
Marie Curie here!’

Later, as Hilda and Dolly were drying and putting away the tea cups
Elizabeth looked up from the table where she was cutting slices of bread for
their supper and asked, ‘Who’s Marie Curie?’